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He yearned for touch. That was no mystery. Toiling away at the laboratory table, away from human contact, as he usually did, makes you hunger for it.
“My, are your hands cold.”
Those were Utterson’s words as he caressed and held his hands in his, as it was his habit. All it had taken for him was to mutter the words “my hands are cold”, like some sort of spell, and lo and behold, the lawyer was doing what he always had done. Kindness was second nature to him, no matter who was at the receiving end.
Hyde very quietly wondered why he wasn’t letting go. Their touch was always naturally repulsive, and this effect was amplified tenfold when bare skin brushed bare skin. He wondered why Utterson would do that to himself, incoherent thoughts darting from wall to wall in their skull. To make yourself feel such a deep discomfort… Now, in his own case, they could understand looking for those sorts of experiences. Long gone was the fun-loving hedonist Hyde; he had given way to a more self-destructive beast after… let’s say, certain developments .
But Utterson, of all people? A human being? A full, complete, human?
In his natural -or unnatural- selfishness, Edward Hyde could only hypothesize on what reasons would his oldest friend have to show affection towards him.
He fell back, from his mind into the living room, when he felt a thumb rub against his knuckle. That was something, he knew, Gabriel tended to do when holding someone’s hand. And he had only held his that way. It only made it all the more confusing.
“You know”, the lawyer spoke, in that wooden monotone of his, “I like your other hands better.”
Of course they knew what he meant with that. It was coded speech for “I miss dear Harry”, something that Utterson had never said out loud, even if he truly meant it, particularly when a residue of dear Harry is listening.
Even with his heart of stone, Hyde could not help but feel an acute pinch of jealousy. “Figures”, he thought, “I’m going to be jealous of myself.” Of him. Of that wretch. The useless heap of flesh that he had worn for years like it was their job. Well, why wouldn’t they be? He had always been. That daft bastard got to be a whole person, one that wasn’t stripped of balancing instincts, while he only got to be one when it was convenient; for all their supposed good, the doctor really acted like he was his master , their superior, a God to him, due to the simple fact that he was a whole and not a part.
At the thought, Hyde’s face went red with a flush of hatred. He almost could not believe he had wasted more than fifty years of life being that cunt.
“Jekyll? Are you alright?”
As if coming out of a bad dream, Hyde snapped into reality upon hearing that. Ironically, it was comforting- it was grounding, grounding enough.
His name.
“I’m fine”, he lied. Utterson could tell, but he said nothing. The lawyer slowly let go. As he did, Hyde’s fingers curled back like spider legs.
“See? You should leave the laboratory more often.”
“…with my luck I will transform into this whenever I leave it. Like just now.”, they sighed. “I want my mind back.” That last bit he did not say, but he thought. The empty space left by the effects of the serum was silent like the tomb, and they were growing tired of the silence. It was not just fear what made him return to be part of the psyche he had once crawled out from.
“Jekyll.” Utterson’s voice was now firmer. He must have noticed that silence. “Are you sure you are fine?”
His eyes flickered away for an instant.
“Well.” A hesitant pause. “My hands aren’t cold anymore.”